Home Truths
by DesertOrchid7485
Summary: When Red is hurt on her behalf, Liz discovers some home truths. Will her and Red's relationship survive them? Will her and Tom's? Red whump.
1. Chapter 1

No matter what others would like a person to believe, Raymond 'Red' Reddington knew one certain fact - getting old is a bitch. Oh, he didn't feel as old as his outer appearance would no doubt suggest, but the fact remained that he was getting older and the wears and tears of his younger days were starting to show through. In his youth, Red had been very active. He had to be; his job had required it. Sometime the missions he'd been sent on hadn't been very demanding, physically. Most times, they were. One in particular always came back to haunt him. Its ghost lived in the worn down and damaged tissue in his left knee, choosing to reassert itself every so often should Red forget the boundaries his body had begun to place on him. Unfortunately, today was one such time.

Yet again, Lizzie had gone into a case full of hatred for him and stubbornness against his very sound advice. Being headstrong wasn't necessarily a bad trait. He was used to facing and overcoming it and therefore saw it as no real evil coming from anyone; indeed, one met with it quite readily in Red's line of work. It was her persistent anger towards him that he found particularly trying. He had known from the start that his lies, when discovered, would be seen as a deeper betrayal. The fact that it had been made worse by his growing bond with the girl had neither diminished his expectations nor changed them. He knew that, though she would rather die than admit it, Lizzie had begun to depend upon and trust him. Given that, he had held onto a sliver of hope (a thing that was very rarely supplied in this world) that she would be able to see past her emotions, her feelings, and would be able to acknowledge the truth in his justifications. Needless to say, reality had chosen to prove itself right once more and so here he was.

It had been three months since she had found out that, not only had he hired "Tom" to be in her life, but that he had also killed Sam. A spike of pain shot through his chest whenever he remembered both the act of killing a dear friend and the pain in her eyes as she accused him of using her only for the fulcrum. Even so, Red had fully expected that things would calm, that Lizzie would calm, and that they would get back to normally, albeit somewhat slowly. But Lizzie could hold a grudge like the best of them and she, even now, refused to forgive him.

So, when he had given her the case of The Conductor, a man who chose to kill with gut strings for string instruments, which he conversely made from his victims, she had naturally spat something at him about not needing his help to make an introduction with a suspect and had not bothered to say anything more before turning her back on him and leaving. Naturally Red had had one of his associates follow her and so had been alerted when The Conductor had knocked Ressler senseless and had taken Lizzie. He had wasted no time in making contact with The Conductor, securing a meeting with him in the interest of a trade - Lizzie for whatever the man wanted that Red had to give. Red hadn't even blinked when The Conductor had demanded to get Red in exchange for Lizzie, knowing that Dembe would get to them before anything truly horrific happened. She had stared at him confusedly, clearly unable to account for what he had done.

While he had been in the company of The Conductor, whose real name was actually Harrold as it would turn out, Red hadn't been treated gently per se. Yet, Harrold had only just begun to warm up when Dembe, alongside four of Red's most trusted extraction team, had shown up. The bruising on his side and wrists from being restrained and beaten was painful and would fade with time so Red hadn't bothered to worry about them, though Mr. Kaplan had frowned upon seeing them. It was the throbbing pain which heatedly pulsed through his left knee that Red found bothersome, and not simply because it hurt. He didn't know if it had been extremely good intelligence or simply coincidence which had led to the decision to ensure that he couldn't run via "crippling" one of his legs, but it had been done with efficiency. The leg was, of course, quite usable but one had to be prepared (and able) to endure a rather fair amount of pain in order to do so. Clearly neither Harrold nor his thugs had expected Red to be one such person and they had paid for their mistake with their lives.

Biting back a hiss of pain, Red got inside the car. He watched their surroundings as he waited for Dembe and Mr. Kaplan to enter via the driver side door and passenger door, making sure that no retribution from some random quarter would be coming.

"Are you sure?" Dembe questioned again as he put the car into gear and pulled away from the scrubbed crime scene. Mr. Kaplan had come prepared and her team had finished quite quickly, leaving the older woman free to accompany Red.

Red smiled. "I appreciate your concern, my friend, but I do not need to be seen to. My injuries are nothing that won't heal with time."

In the rearview mirror, Dembe looked doubtful but he didn't pursue the topic. Red felt his left wrist being enveloped by strong but careful hands and he looked over to find Mr. Kaplan, Kate, examining the bruises now that she was able to. He was patient, letting her satisfy herself, and went back to looking out the window. In his reflection, Red saw his upper lip curl into a micro-expression of a snarl of pain as the throbbing in his leg worsened.

Damn his body's weakness!

Opening his cell phone, Red dialed Lizzie's number.

"What?" she asked by way of a greeting.

It hurt that she didn't sound at all concerned about his well being or that she didn't seem to care that he was able to call her. Swallowing his emotions since they wouldn't do him any good, he said, "You can find what remains of The Conductor's client lists and the details of his current case."

"Red?" She sounded confused, almost hopeful even. Had she not looked at the caller ID before she had answered? There was a pause in which neither of them said anything. Red was curious to see how she would react and so he was therefore content to let her break the silence. It didn't take long for her mind to catch up with what he had said. "What happened to The Conductor?"

"I am not sure," Red answered. It was technically true as he hadn't a clue what Mr. Kaplan had done with the body; he had been too busy attempting to walk, or limp rather, to the car.

"He's dead isn't he?" She sounded resigned, tired.

"Oh yes, he's most certainly dead, but what has happened with his body, I couldn't tell you."

He hung up before she could begin lecturing him about the unlawfulness of his actions (or calling him a monster again, for that matter). As much as he loved her, Red was not in the mood to be patient and understanding. He simply hurt too much.

A bump in the road had him grimacing. It reawakened the burn in his side to a degree which made his brain pay attention to the injury. After a few seconds, it quieted down, allowing the pain receptors to go back to indulging the signals coming from his knee, and Red let his mind wander, remaining silent the entire rest of the trip, his phone ringing all the while.

oOo

Liz angrily punched the 'end call' button on her phone and slammed it down with enough force to make her briefly wonder if she had cracked the screen. Fury raged within her but where it was, or should be, aimed, she couldn't quite figure out. Plenty of it belonged to Reddington, that she was sure of, but she couldn't help but be sensible of the fact that some of it was also aimed at the criminal known as The Conductor as well. Not because he had taken _her_ but because he had hurt _him_.

She hadn't gone more than ten steps towards the door when the sounds of fists connecting with a solid mass reached her ears. Resolving not to show that she cared about Reddington, she had kept going, her mind still awhirl with thoughts and feelings she hadn't had the aptitude to sort through at the time. When she had heard Reddington cry out in pain, Lizzie had stopped. She had never heard him make that sound before. Even when he had been shot, he hadn't put that much pain into a sound. Sure his groans had gorged at her, digging into her stomach until she felt sick, but this had been so much worse. It had taken Dembe forcefully dragging her out of the closed-down warehouse to get her to leave, and even then she had fought to get back.

More anger poured through her as she recalled that, had she simply gone with whomever Reddington had hired to drive her back and protect her, Dembe would have been able to get to his friend much swifter. Anger morphed into guilt and Lizzie didn't shy from it. She knew that it was her fault that The Conductor had managed to relocate Reddington. She only hoped that he wasn't hurt too badly. She almost hoped for forgiveness but that, she felt, was going to far. There was still plenty of anger towards Reddington for her to think that she didn't need or want that man's forgiveness.

Even so, she couldn't get him out of her mind. With an eye roll, she forcefully shut her computer off and grabbed her phone and keys. She needed to get the whole story from Reddington, anyways, might as well do it in person.

At the time it had been a good idea. Now, though, she wasn't as confident in her assessment. Dembe stood in the doorway, refusing to let her in. His face betrayed no emotion so she couldn't tell if he was refusing her out of orders and duty or because he was angry with her.

"Move," she ordered, her fingers twitching to grab her gun and put it in the man's face. Again.

Dembe remained silent a moment, brown eyes staring at her. Lizzie wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see the monster that she felt herself becoming? Did he see the person who could hold hostage a man who had once been her husband, using his own need for survival against him until it had all come crashing down around her? Did he know the kinds of things she had said to his friend? Had he seen the effect those words had had on Reddington as she had or had the "The Concierge of Crime" hidden everything behind a wall that would make Fort Knox proud?

There was a time when she had thought that he was simply a bodyguard for Reddington; someone who did a job that he was hired to do and nothing more. Then she had gotten to know Reddington better and she had seen the ways in which the two men interacted. She could see the friendship that lay beneath their roles, though barely. When Anslo had taken The Post Office, had taken Dembe and threatened to kill him, Lizzie had heard the declaration, the devotion, and the love that Dembe had expressed. She had also heard it returned by Reddington, had seen it in his his face through the blood and the gore on the cage.

"He's inside," Dembe said, voice quiet.

"Great." She tried to step through but he still didn't move. Taking a step back, she sighed. "I can't go in until you get out of the way."

Another pause of quiet. Then, with nary a sigh, comment, or expression, he moved. Elizabeth was hard-put not to glare at him as she passed him and went into the flat. She stopped shortly when she noticed that he was not in the living room where she had expected to find him. Turning, she looked over her shoulder at Dembe. "Where is he?"

"'He' is right here," Reddington's voice said over her other shoulder. It was then that she noticed a hallway which, presumably, led to his bedroom. Liz had fully expected to start demanding answers from him right off the bat, but she stopped short upon seeing him.

Though his tone hadn't suggested it, he was close to panting, evidently from the effort of walking out to join her. Sweat beaded his forehead and his upper lip, and pain shown out of his eyes. He limped, heavily, past her and stiffly sat down onto the sofa. Liz opened her mouth to ask if he was alright then stopped herself.

"What do you want, Lizzie?"

He seemed angry with her, yet he continued to call her Lizzie. Why couldn't things with Reddington ever be simple? Then again, why does she always seem to make it harder? She needed to make a decision and stick with it. Does she want Reddington in her life, or does she not?

"What have you done with The Conductor?"

He waved a hand at her and it was then that she noticed bruising around his wrist. Stilling her immediate reaction, Liz slowly, methodically, walked over to the armchair across from the couch. She sat and tried to appear relaxed. She was anything but, but as Reddington didn't seem inclined to speak, she waited until he did.

As she waited, her mind wandered. Did she want him in her life? Was she prepared to accept all the things, all the troubles, that come with having Raymond Reddington in your life? Then again, was she prepared to let him go, to let her job, go and move, start a new life?

Across from her, Red shifted. His body stilled almost immediately and a brief grimace crossed his face. Frustration almost overwhelmed Liz as she stifled another, stronger, urge to go to him, to make sure that he was okay.

"Put your leg up," another voice sharply commanded. Liz jumped, her eyes automatically flying over to where Mr. Kaplan stood in the doorway of the hallway. Across from her, Red practically rolled his eyes. Yet, stiffly, carefully, he did as he was told.

At the third sign of pain in almost as many minutes, Liz made her decision. Getting up, she grabbed the throw pillow which had sat behind her and reached out to place it underneath his knee. Sometime in the past few minutes, Liz had noticed how little he had moved the joint, leading her to believe that it was what was causing him pain.

Before her hand touched cloth, Reddington's right hand grabbed her wrist. His grip was strong, harder than it needed to be. The cuff of his white sleeve was raised, giving her a view of the bruise which ringed his wrist. Ignoring how tight he was holding on to her and what he was trying to say by that, she placed the pillow on the floor and then, as gently as she could, she loosened his hand from hers. He was shaking slightly, though why she couldn't figure out, and he resisted a little but he allowed her to do it. Remaining gentle, she slipped the pillow under his knee. Again, he grabbed her but this time, she suspected, it was because of pain. She let him hold on, let him squeeze.

"Has a doctor seen you?" she asked, more than aware of the concern that oozed out of her voice.

Reddington released his hold but Liz didn't retreat. Instead, she captured his hand in hers, running her fingers around the bruise. Just from looking, she had wondered if more damage had been done, damage that couldn't be seen under the skin. She wanted to examine it, though she had no medical training or experience whatsoever, but she refrained, guessing that it would only hurt him more and for no reason than to soothe her conscience.

He shifted and winced again. "Are you injured anywhere else?" she asked, now beginning to wonder.

Reddington remained silent, not answering her. With a sigh she got up, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Eying him, she dialed Nick's number.

Liz heard Mr. Kaplan's quick steps and then her phone was grabbed out of her hand, the call disconnected. "Hey!" she argued, rather lamely.

"I have seen to all of Mr. Reddington's needs," Mr. Kaplan said. Her tone was firm, hinting that there was no argument needed but Liz still wanted to do it. Clearly she hadn't since Reddington was still in enough pain that he was expressing it. Still, something in the way the smaller woman blocked Liz's view of Reddington suggested protectiveness, as though she were shielding her boss from Liz.

"What are his injuries?" Liz asked of the older woman. She already knew that Reddington wasn't going to tell her so maybe she could get answers from Mr. Kaplan instead. When she remained as silent as Reddington, Liz blew out a frustrated breath. Tears sprang to her eyes, though she couldn't fully determine why, and Liz batted them back, refusing to let them fall. "Please," she said, lowering her voice in hopes that only Mr. Kaplan could hear her.

"Why?" Mr. Kaplan returned, her stance unmoving, unyielding. Clearly she wasn't about to let Liz know anything until she was satisfied with the answer.

It was a fair question. Unfortunately, it was one that Liz had been trying to answer ever since she'd been hung up on by Reddington. Why did she feel this, almost desperate, need to know how badly Reddington had been hurt? Was it guilt alone? Or was there something more going on? Could she even admit it to herself, let alone to someone else, if there was more? Or would indifference simply be easier?

She had once told him that she cared about him. Sadly, that was still true, but that had been at a time when she hadn't discovered the entire truth. She had foolishly believed that he had cared about her and so had allowed herself to return the feeling. Then Tom had come back for her, put himself in danger for her, and then had told her all that he knew. She never would have believed that Reddington could be so duplicitous. Pretending to care about her, to be her friend and savior, while all the while being the one who started the entire damn mess and, consequently, only wanting her for what she may know, remember, or have. Even now, thinking about it made her feel sick and she felt tears come into her eyes once more.

Liz looked over Mr. Kaplan's shoulder to Reddington. His expression could almost have passed for impassive, but his eyes gave him away. Soft blue eyes looked at her, reflecting the tears in her own, though he refused to let them fall. Unlike hers, his eyes weren't quite as full and therefore he was able to blink them away, shifting, and grimacing, while his mask went back into place. Why couldn't he allow himself to be vulnerable just once? She had seen him come so close a few times but he never seemed to trust her enough to fully let go. Was it because she wasn't much more to him than a source of information or was it simply a product of the life he has led?

"I had thought that you had actually cared about me," she began, her voice quivering with emotion. "I had believed that your interest in protecting me was because you, on some level, cared for me. Was that a my delusion?"

Reddington swallowed and Liz thought that she could see his mind working, trying to come up with a way to diffuse the situation without having to reveal all that he knew. "Lizzie," he said, his voice coming out in almost a growl. It had only been her name, well her name as Reddington saw it, but there had been enough of something like pleading in it to make her snap.

"Tell me Reddington - was I wrong?" She raised her voice as her anger and frustration and pain got the best of her and she saw something akin to a wince cross Reddington's face. Ignoring all signs that he was hurting, Liz continued to stare him down, demanding that he answer her.

Again, her fingers twitched, wanting to go for her gun in the hopes that putting it in the face of someone that Reddington did obviously care about would make him answer but she stopped herself. It scared her that that was her go-to way of getting answers. Besides, she knew that Reddington knew she wouldn't actually pull the trigger and the action itself would only serve to make him mad, which would cause other problems in themselves.

Reddington shifted on the couch, face contorting into a grimace which refused to leave, and then he slowly began to stand up. Rather than tell him to sit back down, Mr. Kaplan moved to support him on his left side. The woman was so short that Liz was sure it didn't actually do any good, but evidently it satisfied her enough to where she didn't try to stop him. For his part, Reddington pulled her into his side, his knuckles turning white for a brief moment before his hand relaxed a bit. His face, almost frozen in an expression of pain, seemed to lose some of its stress and it struck Liz that he not only craved another person's care, touch, and love, but that he could return it. Why, then, couldn't he do that with her?

Then it hit her. They didn't judge Reddington. They had seen his darker sides, just like she had, and they hadn't judged him for them. She had. Every time Reddington had showed her a little bit of himself, in his world, she threw it back at him with hateful words and accusing looks. And yet, how had he expected her to react? She was a federal agent, it was her job to abide by the law!

"Why put on this farce if all I ever was to you was a source?" she asked, tears now streaming down her cheeks.

"I never said that was all you were," Reddington corrected. "That was all you, and Tom."

Liz hadn't realized that she'd moved until she saw Mr. Kaplan do it. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was sure that she'd heard the sound of her hand slapping his cheek, but she didn't remember doing it whatsoever. Even so, even with the mark of her handprint on his face, she said, "Don't you dare blame me or Tom for this."

He looked at her as he would have looked at any other person in the world. Betrayal briefly flashed in his eyes but then it was gone as quickly as it had come and he simply stood there, somewhat off-kilter thanks to him favoring his left leg, staring back at her as though she meant nothing to him. And it was in that moment that she realized her mistake.

Ever since Reddington had come into her life, he had warned her about Tom. Granted it was because he was the one who had, originally, put Tom in her life and so he knew that she shouldn't trust him, but still. From day one, he had said that she shouldn't trust Tom. He had done things to protect her from Tom, he had tracked Tom for her, and even when he had found out that Liz had lied to him about killing Tom, he hadn't judged her for it. Yet, Tom was the one that she chose to trust, showing Reddington in actions more so than in words that she would always believe Tom over him.

Liz didn't know why but Tom was a bad habit that she couldn't seem to break. In spite of all that he had done to her, things that could be seen as far more personal and grievous than anything Reddington had ever done, she chose to forgive him over and over and over again. More than that, she chose to love him. She now wondered why she couldn't do that for Reddington as well.

His gaze could be considered frosty as he said, "You should go, Agent Keen."

"Red," she began, realizing now, with the use of her title, how much she had hurt him.

"Dembe will show you out," he answered, almost interrupting her.

Dembe, who had come closer to his friend when Liz had slapped him, now stepped in front of Reddington, waiting for her to begin walking. But Liz didn't want to go. She didn't want to leave things the way they were. Not now, not like this. She didn't want Red to think that she could never accept him the way he had her. She didn't want him thinking that she cared more about Tom than she did him.

The red mark on his face glared at her. It showed her far more than she had believed it would. It was proof that she could hurt Raymond Reddington, something she had long ago given up believing was possible. And now that it had, she wished that it would stop accusing her; that she could stop seeing it and hoping that she wouldn't continue to see it even after it had disappeared.

Ignoring Dembe, Liz stepped around him, not caring when he put a hand around her bicep to stop her from getting closer to his friend, and slowly raised her hand to Red's face. She felt the heat coming from the mark before she felt his skin and she winced a little. He winced as well at her touch but otherwise he made no move or sound. As gently as she could, she ran her fingers over the handprint, lowering her hand when she was finished to grab his. Then she did something that she didn't think she would ever do. Liz brought his left hand up to her lips and kissed that back of it, including a little bit of the bruising around his wrist as she did.

"I'm so sorry, Red," she said, tears filling her eyes before spilling down her cheeks.

Then, without a word, she walked out the door, letting Dembe escort her from Red's flat. She only hoped that it wouldn't be the last time she would see The Concierge of Crime.

 **TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Red settled onto his bed, biting back any pain that wanted to escape. Standing before Lizzy, letting her do what she would and not showing any emotion, had taken a lot out of him. Even with Kate's ministrations, pain had continued to race through Raymond's body. It had steadily grown worse the longer that Lizzy had stayed. In truth, it was why Red had wanted to her leave, though the slap to the face and the denial of her own involvement in her circumstances hadn't hurt anything either. Raising his left hand to his face, Red gently rubbed where Lizzy had hit him. It no longer hurt and the mark that it had left had faded not long after she had, but the memory was still clear.

"Are you alright?"

The question startled him more than the voice. Kate was one of the few constants in his life and so, as a result, Red was used to her and hearing her voice at random intervals. What she wasn't prone to doing was asking personal questions; especially not when she already knew the answer. They both knew that she knew he was hurting and so her asking about his health seemed…pointless. Unless she wasn't asking about his physical health? Then again, she had to know that he wasn't going to answer that one either.

He smiled at her. "I"m fine, Kate. You know that as you made it happen."

She didn't smile back. "I also know that you wouldn't let me give you the full dose because Agent Keen had come in." She paused and then added, "Well, the full dose for you." They both knew that he had a higher tolerance for medication than others and therefore what was a full dose for a normal person would barely have broken through for him. "Hold out your arm," she commanded, stepping forward with purpose and pulling a syringe out of her purse.

Raymond did what she asked without question. He already knew what she intended to do and he was willing to comply with it since he likewise knew what would follow. They had barely arrived at the flat when he was informed by Dembe that Lizzy was pulling up alongside the curb. As a result, any examination that Kate had wanted to do had been rushed, barely completed in time for him to slowly make his way to the main room where he met Lizzy.

He barely noticed the pinch of the needle going into his the skin at the crook of his elbow; his mind was too focused on what he would do about Lizzy.

The fact that Raymond loved her was not in contention. He loved her with all he had and he would continue to protect her whether she liked it or not, even if it meant that she hated him for the rest of her life. But he also knew that he couldn't take her ire much more. The way he saw it, there were two options. One: she admitted, to herself if not to him, that she, alongside "Tom", was also accountable for the way her life has turned out, though to a lesser degree than him; or two: she continued to blame him for everything bad that had gone on in her life. If she went with the first option, Red would be more than happy to stick around; if she went the second, he had no choice but to leave and watch over her from afar.

He hissed as pain tore through his left leg, dragging him from within the recesses of his own mind and tossing him back into the harsh arms of reality. Looking down, Raymond noticed that Kate had begun to inspect his knee, which, he wasn't surprised to note, appeared to be a swollen and bruised mass that happened to connect the lower part of his leg with the upper. Kate's eyes focused on him for a minute, marking how much pain he was in, and then she went back to her examination. Her touch was as gentle as it could be but since it still caused considerable discomfort, Raymond was obliged to stay in the present rather than allow his mind to wander.

Not long into Kate's ministrations, Dembe walked into the room. In his hand he held a cell phone and it didn't take a great leap of logic to determine who it was on the other line. Given that she had just left, Raymond assumed that it was pertaining to The Conductor, and so, with a sigh and a grimace, he held out his hand for the phone.

"What can I do you for you Agent Keen?"

" _I need to know what you've done with The Conductor,"_ she said, her voice not quite as hard as it had been the last time they had conversed over the phone.

Raymond's face scrunched into a grimace as Kate began to apply the compression bandage to his knee. Once a lot of the swelling had gone down, it would be replaced with the knee brace that he had stored somewhere within this flat but for now, it simply wouldn't fit. Another hiss escaped his lips and that made Raymond wince. He loathed showing weakness to anybody but it was especially true when it came to Lizzy. They weren't there yet, to the place where Raymond knew that he could trust her, could trust _in_ in her. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever get there, actually, but he wouldn't dwell on that as it did him no good and it got nothing accomplished.

" _Red? Are you alright?"_

"I'm sorry, Agent Keen, but I truly have no idea where The Conductor is."

Raymond didn't know why he was using Lizzy's official title; it just seemed to fit for the moment. While he had no scruples about referring to her as 'Lizzy' when thinking, or when talked to Dembe or Kate, there was a small part of him that was trying to detach itself from her when talking to her. It was as though he were trying to slowly peel off the bandaid, hoping that time would make the separation, which he indeed felt was coming, easier on himself rather than being violently ripped from her life. Rationally, he knew that it wouldn't work - it was going to hurt either way, and time wasn't going to change the degrees of how much.

" _What about Mr. Kaplan?"_ Lizzy countered, breezing past the fact that he hadn't answered her question with considerable ease. _"Does she know?"_

"I'm sure she does," Raymond conceded, biting his lower lip when another hiss of pain wanted to escape. Kate whispered something to Dembe as she attempted to elevate his knee a little via a pillow, then gave Red a look which challenged him to try and get the whereabouts of The Conductor's body out of her. Red raised an eyebrow, challenging her challenge, but then he shook his head and gave her a small smile. "But whether or not she'll tell you is another matter."

" _You didn't have to cover it up. He was torturing you; it was self-defense."_

"Lizzy, there are certain people who would jump at the chance to implicate me in some person's murder or another. If I leave a body unattended and one of the aspiring up-and-comers were to get ahold of it, things would go very badly."

" _For you."_

"And for them," Red added. "Because, should I find ever find them, there will not be enough left for the FBI to try to find."

" _It's almost like you_ want _to scare me off,"_ she observed, sounding frustrated. _"What are you so afraid of letting me see?"_

Having had enough of this line of questioning, Red hung up the phone. He wasn't in the mood to suffer through a personal interrogation by someone who should already know the answers to the questions she's asking. If she truly didn't understand what it was that made him hesitant by now, then he wasn't about to spell it out for her.

Handing the phone back to Dembe, he said, "If she calls back, tell her that I'm unavailable."

"And if she persists?"

"Tell her I will call her back when I am finished and that I do not wish for her to show up at my home again unless she is invited." Red doubted that that would stop her but for now, it was the best he could do.

"And if she persist?" Dembe countered again, knowing full-well what Lizzy was capable of.

"Make her wait," was Raymond's reply. If Lizzy showed up when she knew that she wasn't welcome, she could very well stand out in the hallway, or even out on the sidewalk, until he was ready to let her in.

A pleasant numbness fell over Raymond's body, distracting him from the problems of the world long enough to make him notice that Kate had done something more after she had gotten his knee taken care of. He looked over at her to see her putting another syringe into her purse. "What did you give me?" he asked, feeling more than a little groggy. He tried to glare at her (she knew that he _hated_ to be under the influence of strong medication) but he didn't doubt that it failed entirely.

Kate looked down at him then leaned down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Red couldn't help himself, he leaned into that sign of affection as much as he could. There weren't many times during his life, after the loss/disappearance of his family, that Red had been shown affection or caring; it just wasn't something that was done in the world of criminals and backstabbers. But, in spite of Lizzy's claims that he was a monster, Raymond was also human, and like any of the species, he craved the soft touch of someone who loved him.

"It'll help you get some rest," she said once she'd stood back up. "Don't worry, Dembe or I will wake you if we need to move quickly."

Knowing that he could trust in Dembe and Kate, Red closed his eyes and allowed the medicine to pull him under.

oOo

The room was dark when Raymond next greeted reality. There was a light coming through the open door of his room, giving Dembe all the illumination that he needed to navigate the clean area and make it the bed where Raymond slept. He woke slowly, still feeling the after effects and the medicine's pull, but eventually he was able to be fully alert.

"What is it?" he asked, hoping that nothing was wrong. He didn't believe himself capable of moving very quickly at the moment.

"Agent Keen is here," Dembe alerted, his voice soft, whispering, as though he were trying to keep someone else in the room asleep.

"How long has she been here?" Raymond asked, face scrunching in disorientation.

He felt groggy and, as it had felt like there was cotton in his mouth, the words probably hadn't come out as eloquently as he had wanted them to; he actually had a feeling that he'd slurred them. Shifting to sit up, Red felt his arm being grabbed and then he was being assisted with getting off the bed. His muscles had stiffened during his nap and as a result, pain woke anew throughout his body. He growled through it, his hand tightening a little on Dembe's arm while he rode it out.

"Four hours."

"And you held her off that long?" Red was impressed. He knew that, lately, Lizzy had an affinity for using her gun to get through when she wasn't being allowed otherwise. Had she not even tried?

"Mr. Kaplan would not let her enter the flat until you were awake."

Red clenched his teeth as he, with the help of Dembe, stood up. Pain immediately throbbed through his left knee, forcing him to shift his weight so that a lot of it was on his right side rather than his left. He hunched over slightly as his bruised side added its pain to the cacophony which already drowned out everything else; when he went out the door, he'd do his best to remain more upright and look less pained but for now he'd indulge his body. Dembe, seeing that his friend was more stable than when he had first woken, soon backed off, standing just close enough to be of assistance should it be needed.

"How long was I out?" Red asked. He knew that it was more than four hours but as he also knew that it could very well be longer, he wasn't sure _how_ much longer it had been. He paused before the door, hand on the knob, waiting for Dembe's response.

"Six hours." Not too long but far more than what Red was used to getting. "Elizabeth showed up not long after you fell asleep. At first she had tried to get in but when we wouldn't let her, she left. She sat in her car until Mr. Kaplan called her and told her to come up; she now waits in the hall."

Red nodded, already tired though he hadn't walked far. "Go let her in; I'll meet with her in the living room," he said, stepping back a little so that Dembe could pass him. He paused a few seconds more and then he began the slow, very painful walk to the couch where he fully intended to sit during his entire visit with Lizzy.

oOo

When Mr. Kaplan had called her and told her that she could come up, Liz hadn't been expecting to be kept waiting in the hall. She had politely stood in front of the door, patiently waiting for them to let her in for a bout ten minutes before she had begun to pace the hallway. Why even call her when they weren't ready for her?

She was on her fifteenth lap when the door finally opened. Dembe gave her a small smile and then stepped aside, allowing her entry. Liz was honestly surprised that Red was still at the flat; knowing what she did about Red's habits, she had half expected him to have moved on already. Yet, here he was - or so she was told by a very determined Mr. Kaplan when Liz had arrived here four and a half hours ago.

Not bothering to give Dembe any form of greeting, she strode into the living area, slowing only when she saw Red gingerly making his way over to the couch. Again she wondered how badly he had been injured, but she guessed that neither Red, Dembe, _or_ Mr. Kaplan were going to tell her and so she didn't bother asking. Instead, she stood and watched him like a hawk, seeing if she could divine anything using deduction and observation.

Raymond Reddington was not necessarily a tall man. He wasn't short by any means, but he _was_ what most would consider average height. The thing that usually made him seem like the tallest person in the room, aside from his arrogance and/or self-assurance, was that he had decent posture. Red was not the type of person to slouch, or hunch over. So the fact that he was doing just that right now told Liz that his torso was hurting him. Given that he had his left arm wrapped around his stomach, thus blocking the left side from touch and view, she guessed that it was some bruised ribs. A flash of something on the back of his neck caught her eye, something that lingered just beneath the surface of his tee shirt, but she didn't have time to ascertain what it was before he had moved out of her view.

When she had been here earlier, Red's gait had been limping at worst. Now, it could be said that calling the way he was walking a limp was being generous. He seemed to barely put any weight on his left leg, as though he couldn't tolerate much to begin with. Looking over Red's shoulder, Liz saw Mr. Kaplan's face scrunch into a frown, leading Liz to believe that this was a new development and that the "Cleaner" wasn't happy with what she saw. Liz couldn't fault her for that; she wasn't pleased by how much pain Red seemed to be in either.

"What can I do for you, Agent Keen?" Red asked, sounding tired and out of breath.

The only sounds beyond those were that of his socked feet walking across the floor. Liz rarely got to see him so dressed down and so she stood for a minute to simply stare. She waited for him to gingerly settle onto the couch, much in the same position that he had been in when she had been there earlier, before she moved to join him in the living room. Once Red had sat, Mr. Kaplan had moved in, extra pillows in hand, and had placed them where she, evidently, thought they were needed most. They seemed to help only marginally but, Liz was pretty sure that, barring medicinal help, that was the best that could be expected for now.

"I came to apologize," she admitted, sitting in the same armchair that she had vacated a little under seven hours ago.

Guilt had been gnawing at her ever since she had left. Before that, actually, if truth be told. But it didn't begin to overwhelm her until about an hour or two after she'd arrived at home. Within the quiet of her apartment, Liz had had ample time to sit, ponder, and stew. She knew that she had decided to keep Raymond in her life, even in spite of what he'd done to her and her life, but what she hadn't figured out was how to forgive him for the wrongs he'd committed, or if she even could. She knew that he, in some sick, twisted, little way, loved her, but that didn't excuse all the presumptuous and heavy-handed things he had done ever since before she had known he existed.

From there, it had been an easy jump to guilt over slapping him. It wasn't the fact that she'd hit him that bothered her, no, he had that coming to an extent. No, it was the look he had given her after she'd done it. Liz was pretty sure that Red hadn't meant to reveal as much as he had through his eyes, but she, for one, would never forget it. The hurt and betrayal in his blue eyes had cut through her anger as easily as a hot knife through warm butter. Knowing that, on some level at least, he felt that she had betrayed him had gnawed on her, and while a small part of her said that it served him right, and to let him know how it felt, another, bigger part reminded her that he already had people stabbing him through the back when he wasn't looking, he didn't need her doing it as well.

And so, not two hours after having arrived home, Liz had found herself driving over to the flat to speak with Red, only to be banned entry. She had done everything short of shooting Mr. Kaplan but still, the older woman wouldn't let her in. When she'd been told that Red was sleeping, Liz had practically rolled her eyes. She'd told them to wake him up but, again, Mr. Kaplan refused and had told her to come back later. Since Liz was resolved against leaving without having talked to Red, she had chosen to sit in her car and wait - a decision that she had come to regret four hours later.

Across from her, Red's eyes closed. It took him a full minute to open them back up and when he did, it appeared to be quite the struggle. Had Mr. Kaplan given him something to make him sleep? If so, he was clearly still feeling the effects of it. "For what?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as though curious.

"Before I continue, I want to make it clear that I don't forgive you," Liz said, drawing a line in the sand and hoping that the tide didn't wash it away. While she didn't necessarily want to stay mad at him, it was currently the only thing reminding her that the man in front of her was a criminal and that he was capable of some very dark deeds. Without that constant, Liz was sure to fall for some manipulation of Red's again and _that_ she didn't want. "Whenever I see you, I will _always_ see the man that killed my father."

Upon being told that he was not forgiven, Red had showed no reaction. He had simply sat and listened, seemingly patiently listening to what she had to say. But when she had mentioned what he'd done to Sam, Liz saw the tiniest flicker of a flinch in the way his eyes briefly scrunched. Yes, she knew that Red had done what he'd felt was right, but even so, Liz would _never_ forgive him for that. There had been a brief time when she had considered, from Red's point of view, how it would have felt to have to kill your friend, to provide a mercy killing to prevent further pain, and she had felt some small bit of sympathy for him. But it had long-since been dwarfed by her anger at him for the deed itself.

"Lizzy," he said but she held up her hand to stall him. She didn't want to have another go-round where he defended his actions with something akin to logic while her heart broke with every word. That wasn't what she was here for.

"Don't," she said, sufficiently shutting him up for the moment. "I'm not here to talk about that again, or ever. But I do want to talk about your role in my life." Another minute flinch, that was all she got from him. It was enough, though, as it told her that he didn't want to hear what she would say. Too bad, it was _her_ turn to talk. "I can't go through any more days like we have been. I can't sit and pretend that nothing has happened between us; I won't. You, with your names and attempts to win be back to the way things used to be - I can't do that anymore." Tears began to well in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She was done crying over things Red had done to and for her. With a somewhat unsteady exhale, she stamped down on her emotions, then continued. "What I can do, is work with you. If you can promise to keep things professional between us, and stay out of my personal life, we can continue getting the people from your blacklist."

There was a pause in which nothing happened and no one spoke. Liz ignored both Mr. Kaplan and Dembe, her sole focus on Red. He seemed to be having trouble, either processing what he was hearing, or coming up with an answer to it because he remained speechless far longer than he was wont to do. When, after two minutes, he still said nothing, Liz spoke some more. "I care about you," she admitted, leaning forward so that her arms rested on her knees. She choked down the impulse to grab his hand, to reassure him of that truth as it would, no doubt, send the wrong message. "But I can't afford to keep doing it; not if I want to keep get my life back."

"There's no going back, Lizzy," he argued, evidently having found his voice for the first time in minutes.

On some level, Liz knew that to be true, but she hadn't given up hope yet and she didn't believe she ever would. "Do you agree to my terms?" she asked, ignoring his remark and pretending like she hadn't heard him speak.

Red shifted, more so with his head positioning and his mouth than the rest of his body. It looked like he couldn't decide what to do or how to respond. When Liz looked into his eyes she thought saw the beginnings of what could only be called tears, but she couldn't be sure. Red was not quite the master at hiding his emotions that Dembe was but he was pretty damn close. If there was something that he didn't want you to know, especially if it had to do with him personally, your chances of finding it out via watching his face weren't good.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he answered at last. "I can't stay out of your life, not when you could be in danger because of your brief contact with me, and especially not when Tom is still in your life."

"What happens between Tom and I no longer concerns you," Liz said, her voice showing her anger now.

"And that's where you're wrong, Lizzy," Red argued back, now showing his agitation through his movements. While she had talked, he had stayed relatively still. Now he shifted and fidgeted, looking as though he wanted to get up, to get closer to her. When his body reminded him why he couldn't, he calmed, but he focused on her with enough intensity that Liz knew they couldn't have been any closer if Red had been sitting beside her. "It concerns me very much that Tom is still in your life," he continued. "And as long as that is a factor, I'm not going anywhere."

"I won't work with you Red, not like this," she argued back, hoping to make him see that his stubbornness was futile.

"Are you really willing to risk your job over this? Your life?" he countered.

"What life?!" Liz exploded. She stood, unable to sit still any longer. "You've taken what little of a life I had. My husband, my safety, my happiness. Everything is gone because _you_ couldn't stay away; because you wanted your Fulcrum. And now, you're telling me that you won't leave because of the danger you've put me in?"

She looked over at Red when he didn't respond right away. Half expecting him to argue back, she was caught off guard when he didn't. He looked calm, cool, and unyielding.

"Lizzy, I want you to listen very carefully to me," he said, his tone that of someone at the end of their patience. He looked tired still but pain was also there, and she briefly wondered how much it was costing him to sit there and appear like nothing was wrong. "You can blame me for bringing Tom into your life all you want, but the truth of the matter is that _Tom_ was the one who decided to stay and work for Berlin. So, if you want to blame someone for your _husband_ being a traitor or a liar or whatever else you may want to call him, blame Tom or Berlin, not me. As for your safety, you were never truly safe and the only way that you have been made to believe so was by my protection. Just because you are only now aware of it, that doesn't mean that it hasn't been there for most of your life." He paused and then added, "And you are welcome to blame me for killing Sam, but you will never convince me that what I did was wrong. He was hurting, he was _dying_ ; I helped free him of both upon his request."

"You son of a bitch," Liz whispered. Shock coursed through her. "You can't even admit when you're wrong, can you? What, is that too much of a weakness for the great Raymond Reddington to admit to? Or are you simply so arrogant that you don't believe you did anything wrong?"

"One could ask the same of you, Lizzy," he countered, ice in his eyes, belying the slight smile that he gave her. "I readily admit when I am wrong to you. I have told more than once that I don't deny who or what I am. But you? Oh, you, my dear Lizzy, can't even admit to the truth when it's presented before you. You'd rather have someone else to blame for what has happened in the past two years than to believe that you could possibly have had any form of compliance in it."

Liz stood before Red, stunned into silence. If he had hit her, she couldn't have been more surprised. This was the first time to date, that she could remember, that he had given her the truth of things without forcing him to do it. Sure, he would usually trade something for it, but rare was the time when he would give it freely. It was also the first time that she could remember him not taking full responsibility for what had been going on in her life. Yes, he might have pushed some of it onto Tom, but for the most part he'd always accepted whatever mirth she threw his way.

She opened her mouth to respond but then shut it when she discovered that she didn't have a reply. On some level, she knew that he was right. She was fully aware that his involvement in her life didn't just begin when he had surrendered himself to the FBI, that it had, in fact, begun much earlier. But what she didn't know was _when_ it had truly begun. Given that, it was safe to assume that he had been watching over her from the shadows, an invisible fairy godmother who eliminated any threats that might come her way. So it made sense that her safety being compromised wasn't because he had come into her life, but because he had made her _aware_ of what was all going on.

As for Tom? She knew that Red had fired him before they'd gotten married, that he had insisted Tom leave when they'd gotten intimate. And yet, Tom had remained, serving as a spy for an enemy of Red's. Whatever Tom had done after the point in which Red had fired him was all on Tom, not Reddington. So why couldn't she stop blaming Red for it? Why did she always insist that it was _his_ fault and not Tom's? Was she simply being childish in refusing to allow credit (or blame) where it was due?

And as for the rest? Well, to be literal, she was to blame for most of what Reddington had done to and with her life for a while now. He had told her to tell him to leave, to disappear, and each time she hadn't done it. Therefore, if she was going to blame him for the every life that Berlin had taken after Red had paid him for Naomi, then was she not partially responsible for what had been going on in her life with regards to him?

"You're right," she admitted, voice still quiet. She sat down once again, her nervous energy expended. Looking up at him, she saw that he still wore the same expression that he'd had after he'd finished lecturing her. It was what she'd come to term and his "bitch face" because he tended to get a little bitchy with people whenever he wore it. "I am responsible for your staying." His face fell and Liz swore she could feel his heart breaking then. "I'm not going to ask you to leave," she assured, "but things can't continue as they have been."

"I won't ignore what goes on in your personal life, Lizzy," Red declared, shaking his head as though to back up his refusal.

"Then we have a problem," she answered, refusing to give up on that point. "Because I can't work with you if you continue to butt in where you're not wanted."

"Lizzy, I will always do whatever I have to to keep you safe. Wouldn't you much rather prefer to keep me as an asset for the FBI rather than let me loose where neither you nor the FBI will ever find me?"

She hadn't thought of it that way but he had a point. They both knew that he would always butt into her life whether she wanted it or not, in spite of what she told him. So, wouldn't it be better to use him for his criminal knowledge? At least _something_ good might come from it all then. But could she handle the yo-yo that had become their relationship, their conversations, lately?

Looking over at him, she saw him let out a silent sigh. His eyes closed and this time he obviously had trouble getting them to open again. When he did, he moved, as though he were trying to get comfortable, before grimacing and stopping. Liz sighed. "I should go. You need to rest."

"So, I take it that I will see you tomorrow?" he ventured, though there was little of his usual smugness in it.

Liz allowed her gaze to travel down to his injured knee. Through the sweatpants that he wore, she could see a slight malformation. Although she wasn't entirely sure what it was, she could guess, and she would guess that Mr. Kaplan had wrapped Red's knee in a bandage. From there, her eyes went to his wrists, which still looked pretty bruised and then back to his face. "I think you should take it easy for the next few days," she said, not really wanting to see him tomorrow. She needed time to think, to process.

"Lizzy, I'm a criminal," he said, brushing aside what could have been taken as concern from her. "We _never_ take it easy when we're supposed to." He paused, looking at her more closely. With a nod of his head, he added, "But, yes, I imagine it will be quite difficult for me to move for the next couple of days, so perhaps it's safer to say that I will see you on Wednesday."

Grateful that he had evidently come to the conclusion that she wanted space and had, magnanimously, decided to give it to her, Liz sighed and offered a smile. "Feel better," she said.

She stood up and was around the back of the sofa before he managed to grab her hand. It made her pivot a little as she didn't want him twisting too much lest it should hurt him, and it was then that she saw something that made her freeze in place while her heart rate skyrocketed. Sometime during their conversation his tee shirt had begun to be pulled down so that when she turned, she could see some of his back. Or what was left of it. While she couldn't see much, she _could_ see the burn scars that spread across his shoulders.

It was perfectly logical to assume that he had gotten those through something that _hadn't_ been a house fire when she was a girl but something in her gut told her that wasn't the case. They had been connected far to much lately for those scars to be mere coincidence.

"Thank you," he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

What he was thanking her for, she couldn't decide. Liz swallowed, hoping that no one else had noticed her reaction to what she had seen, least of all Red, and prayed that her voice came out sounding as normal as possible.

"Feel better," she said, repeating herself since she didn't particularly wish to say anything more. She let him give her hand another squeeze before she extracted it from his grasp and left. She had things to think about and the furthest she got from Red to do so, the better.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

It was a week before Liz felt like contacting Reddington. Since she had been kidnapped as well, Cooper had given her the extra time off, using Reddington's lack of contact with her as one of the main motivators in her vacation. She was surprised that Red had allowed her the space but then she had caught sight of one of his associates following her, keeping an eye on her, and she had simply rolled her eyes. It wasn't surprising; after all, he had admitted that he would never stop, even when she wanted him to.

Throughout her "vacation", Liz had thought and thought and had tried to come up with a way to work with Reddington. For her, it basically came down to compromise - either he would have to compromise on something, or she would. Since her her chances of getting Red to compromise on anything weren't great, Liz knew that she had to decide whether or not she could accept his terms. After seven days, she still wasn't sure. Then again, was it such a bad thing to have someone looking out for her? Sure, he was incredibly frustrating at times, but he did care about her and there weren't many people in Liz's life that she could say that about. Maybe she could work out some sort of arrangement with him to where he tells her all that she needs to know right now rather than make her wait until he's about to be proved untrustworthy?

And then there was the scars. Liz couldn't get them out of her mind. Each time she closed her eyes, they were there, staring back at her, glaring at her, accusing her. She had no idea _why_ they provoked guilt, she wasn't to blame for the fire after all, but they did. The pain that Red must have gone through was unimaginable. Liz had some small idea thanks to the scar on her palm but this was across his shoulders! Whenever she found herself thinking of them, tears of pity _and_ frustration choked her. How could she care so much about this man and yet despise him for everything that he is and stands for?

Clearing her mind, Liz prepared for the meeting she was about to take, the meeting that she had asked for.

When she had called Reddington, and had been given an address that she didn't know, it hadn't surprised her. She was glad that he seemed to be feeling well enough to get out of the flat, but it had also made her wonder if he was, perhaps, getting ready to give her another name. Normally, Liz would be okay with that, but today, she wanted privacy so that she could talk to him and, hopefully, get him to show her the rest of his back and get some answers.

Dembe answered the door via opening it just as she was about to knock. He offered her a slight smile before stepping aside to allow her entrance. The smile was a nice break from the complete lack of expression that she had been receiving from him lately; it made his face much more handsome. Red met her in the vestibule, using the aid of a cane to get around the mansion that he was, no doubt, borrowing from someone without their knowledge. He wore his usual three-piece-suit but Liz could see the hint of nude-color bandaging around his wrists, thus hiding the bruises from any potential clients. Liz's brows knit together when she noticed that he was leaning heavily on the cane. Should he even be walking around?

"Lizzy," he greeted with a smile. He stopped halfway to the door, waiting for her to meet him the rest of the way. Liz noticed how he bent his left leg, as though to take weight off it while he stood there. His mask never faltered, though, leaving to her wonder how much pain he was currently feeling. If the injury hadn't been so obvious, she wouldn't even have known about it. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you," she said, making sure that she pretended as though she hadn't noticed anything amiss with him.

He pivoted, leading her God only knew where. She had to slow her pace to keep up with him but she did it with ease and little notice. "I had thought that you'd said all that you'd wanted to say the last time," he observed without malice or reproach.

"So had I." And she had. Truly. But those scars just wouldn't let her go. "But then something else came to mind that I wanted to discuss with you." When he started to lead her towards what could be taken for a living room, Liz stopped and added, "Perhaps we could do this somewhere with a bit more privacy?"

That made him pause. He studied her for a moment, probably trying to determine what her angle was. Not thirty seconds later, Red nibbled the inside of his cheek before asking, "What is it that you want, Lizzy?" His demeanor suddenly went from relaxed to on guard, his tone no longer genial and his eyes no longer smiling. Suspicion was probably second nature to him so the change was practically unnoticeable. But Liz noticed it and she felt a little less sure about her approach.

For most people, there really wasn't a good way to get information out of Raymond Reddington. For Liz, that wasn't necessarily true, but it wasn't easier either. There were right ways and wrong ways to do it and she was pretty sure that this was going to be a wrong way.

Liz looked over to Dembe, feeling foolish for what she was about to say. She didn't anticipate this conversation going well, if at all, and she didn't want to reveal to Dembe, as well as Red, that she had, essentially, snooped and discovered something that she _knew_ Red would want to keep private. She would have felt marginally better about bringing the conversation up if Dembe wasn't there but his presence wasn't going to stop her from doing it either. She had to know.

"It's about the scars on your shoulders," she said, managing to not flinch as she spoke. Red raised his head, silently daring her to continue. It was a look she'd seen many a time when he was uncomfortable with what she was asking him to do or say.

"There's nothing to tell," he said with a note of finality in his voice.

"You see, that's what I don't agree with," Liz objected, stepping closer to him. His posture straightened, making him wince in the process, but he stood his ground, allowing her to invade his personal space. "You were there the night that my parents died, weren't you?" She wanted to beg him to tell her no, to tell her that something else, anything else, had given him those scars. But if there was one thing that Liz realized she'd been lately, it was childish, and she wasn't about to continue acting that way if she could help it.

There was a pause in which Liz was certain that he wouldn't answer. She continued to stare at him, hoping that that would provoke a response. After a long while he said, "Yes."

Tears filled her eyes as she recalled the image of a man lying on the floor with fire surrounding him. She had been hoping against hope that it hadn't been Red, that it had been someone else instead. In all actuality, she had believed that it had been her father but now she wondered. Refusing to allow the tears to fall, she asked, "Will you tell me why?"

"No."

On that he was resolute, she could tell. Once again, frustration bloomed inside her. She stamped down on it, refusing to allow it to control her this time and instead asked, "May I see them?" When she could tell that he was about to give her a definitive no again, Liz reached out and grabbed his right hand, gently holding it in hers lest she press on the bruise. "Please, Red," she pleaded, allowing one tear to fall. It was manipulative, she knew, but if it worked, she wasn't going to complain.

"Lizzy." His tone was a warning that she refused to ignore.

"Please, Red" she said, adding urgency to her voice, though it still remained a whisper. "I need to know."

"Lizzy, once you see things, they cannot be unseen," he warned, clearly unhappy with what she was asking, yet somehow willing to do it. "Are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Yes."

He nodded and then looked at Dembe. His friend moved over to the windows, pulling the curtains over them to prevent anyone seeing in, and then stood in front of them as though he expected someone to try to come through them. Once that was done, Red placed the cane he was using against the backside of a sofa and began to peel off his coat, vest, and shirt.

His chest was not that of a young man. Age had slowly begun to take control of his muscle definition, turning what had once been a toned physique into something a little softer. Liz's eyes took it in, unsure how she should feel about seeing him exposed like this. On the one hand, she liked that he evidently trusted her enough to to it, but on the other she felt awkward about it. Then she noticed the bruising on his left side. It looked deep, with reds and blues mixing together to form a barrier around something far paler in the middle. Knowing that was likely where he had been beaten, Liz blinked and looked away. Maintaining her anger at him would fail sufficiently if she were to continue looking at what he had endured so that she wouldn't have to. She cared about Red enough that she didn't like that he had gotten hurt for her.

With his torso exposed, Red simply stood there, waiting for her to make her way towards his back. She acquiesced happily, knowing that it would be inconvenient for him to be the one to turn. Placing her purse down on the couch, Liz moved so that she could see his back. Although she had expected as much, she still couldn't help the shocked gasp that escaped when she saw that his entire back was covered with burn scars. She hesitated only a moment before slowly reaching out, lightly touching them as she let her fingers roam. Beneath her touch Red stiffened and though she knew that they no longer hurt, she still stopped a beat before continuing.

"That night," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "I remember a man lying in the middle of the living room floor." She swallowed as her memory recalled the vision, placing Red as he stood before her now where the man had been. "I had thought that that was my father. Was it you?"

Red's breath hitched and Liz took that as her cue to stop. She stepped back, moving to her previous position to give him time to get dressed again. When she faced him once more there was nothing in his features to show that he'd just done something that he would normally have rather died before doing.

Once finished, Red began to make his way to the closest chair, grimacing as he sat. "I'm not going to answer that, Lizzy," he denied just as he had done when she'd asked about her mother's photo being in his apartment. On this, she knew that he wouldn't budge and so she didn't push. He'd already shared far more with her than he would normally have so there was no use in trying to get more.

She chose a different subject instead. "How bad is your side?" Her eyes traveled down to where his shirt now covered the bruises. She actually stared for a time before she was able to force herself to look away.

"Caught that did you?" he countered with a partial smile. He nodded as though accepting that she had. "It's nothing," he dismissed. "I had worse in Cozumel. Dembe, do you remember that?"

Liz wasn't in the mood for him to brush this off, so she did something that she hadn't thought that she would ever do - she inspected it for herself. Having no medical knowledge whatsoever meant that she wouldn't have clue as to what she was doing, but at least she could be able to tell how much pain the injury caused, which may or may not tell her how bad it was.

For his part, Red was so surprised that he hadn't had the presence of mind to stop her before she had his shirt up and had her fingers skimming his skin. Liz was glad that he hadn't added his vest because that would have made things much harder. She heard his breath catch at a couple of different spots but otherwise he betrayed nothing, leaving her to decide that it was as he had said - he was fine.

"Satisfied?" he asked and Liz could _swear_ she heard a smirk in his voice.

Still kneeling in front of him, Liz dropped her hands, laying one on each knee. When her left hand fell onto his injured one, his wince was almost instantaneous. She removed her hand, settling back onto her heels with a concerned frown. "How bad is the knee?" she asked, knowing that it had to be bad if merely touching it produced that expression.

This time the twitch in his eyes was from displeasure but he answered, "It's an old injury that chooses to act up every now and then."

Liz frowned. The FBI wasn't aware of anything of the kind and their research was fairly extensive and certainly personal. What else was Reddington hiding that they didn't know about?

"I am sure that the baseball bat didn't help anything, my friend," Dembe said from his perch by the window.

Liz's eyes looked over at Dembe for a moment before coming to focus back on Red. As per his usual, The Concierge of Crime didn't show anything that might be considered a betrayal of emotion, but somehow Liz could tell that he hadn't wanted Dembe to say that. "What?" she asked, appalled. "Did The Conductor hit you with a baseball bat?"

Okay, _now_ she was truly angry. Of all the things that Reddington had done to her since he'd first surrendered to the FBI, absolutely none of that was deserving of the beating he'd evidently received. Yes, he should be in prison and not allowed to roam free, and yes, she often found herself wanting to slap him, or put another pen into his neck, but things like torture and baseball bats were reserved for those criminals that preyed on children and old people, who committed rape and justified it by saying that the girl had wanted it. Not for someone like Red.

"Yes," Red admitted with something akin to false cheer in his voice. "It was a security measure taken to ensure that I couldn't escape on my own." A feral smile came onto his face, cold as a winter morning. "He paid for his mistake."

She actually felt a little sick now. "Did you have a doctor look at it?" When he simply sat there, looking at her, Liz grew frustrated. "This is ridiculous. Why won't you tell me?"

"Because you don't need to know. You want to know, and as I have already told you, they are two _very_ different things."

When she looked over at Dembe to help her out, the man merely shrugged. Evidently he wasn't going to tell her anything, either. Great. "If I call Mr. Kaplan, will she tell me?"

"No."

Blowing out a breath of sheer anger, Liz tried another angle. "Look, I simply want to know what I should tell Cooper. Should I tell him that you need some more time to recover? Should I tell him that you'll see him tomorrow so he can debrief you himself?"

"Harold knows good and well that I only speak with you."

"When it comes to a case, yes. But, Red, the case is over and we need to know what has happened to The Conductor. Since you haven't been forthcoming, Cooper has instructed me to bring you in so he can ask you himself."

Red rolled his eyes and gave her a look of annoyance. His bitch face was back but this time it made Liz want to laugh. She held it in but only barely. "Should we go now?"

"What?" Liz asked, unable to track the change of pace. "Go where?"

"The Post Office, of course." Liz stood as Red pushed himself up from the chair and grabbed the cane. "We wouldn't want to keep Harold waiting any longer, now would we?"

"Red," Liz objected. Something told her that he was only doing this to prove a point to her, a point that didn't really need to be made, by the way, if he would have simply answered her question. He stepped past her and was almost to the vestibule before she caught up with him. "Wait," she said, jogging to catch up to him and then stand in front of him. "All I want is to know how badly you're hurt. Why not just answer the question?"

Red looked at her as though she were particularly stupid. "I have answered the question as far as I am willing to, Lizzy, you just simply refuse to accept it." He continued walking towards the door, getting through it before Liz's brain caught up and forced her to chase after him. Heaven forbid he should get to the blacksite before she did.

oOo

Even before he'd reached the freight elevator that would take them down to the task force's underground Batcave, Raymond knew that he shouldn't have been so stubborn. The longer that he was on his feet now, the more likely it would be that he wouldn't be able to be later. And sadly, 'later' was coming up faster than he wanted. Beside him, he could feel Lizzy's eyes boring into him, her concern evident on her face. The freight doors started opening and Raymond plastered a small smile on his face.

"Harold!" he greeted far more happily than he felt. "I hear you wanted to talk to me about The Conductor."

The AD looked up from where he was conversing with Aram and stared at Red with surprise on his face. "Reddington," he said,. His brown eyes traveled down to the cane then back up to Red's face. "How are you feeling?"

Raymond smiled, not answering. He had no intention whatsoever of answering that question as he believed it was entirely obvious how he was feeling. "Let's take this into your office, shall we?"

"Tell you what," Harold said, not skipping a beat. "Why don't we go to Ressler and Keen's office instead?"

Raymond smiled but once again didn't respond. He waited for Harold to begin moving first before he started to follow. Ressler and Lizzy fell in line to follow suit, with Lizzy remaining behind Red and Ressler cutting in front of him. His first step almost had him falling on the floor as his injured knee barely refused to tolerate what little weight he was putting on it. Things didn't get any easier from then on but as Raymond absolutely refused to show weakness in front of the FBI, he forced his body to cooperate as much as it could. If any within this organization wanted to gain favor with any of the world's seedier community, all they had to do was say that he was injured and things would suddenly become a lot worse for him.

When he arrived at the little room which had been termed Agent Ressler's and Lizzy's office, he found that they had left a seat available for him. Harold sat at Lizzy's desk, watching as Red entered. Pretending that he didn't feel like they were about to suddenly arrest him if he didn't answer their questions to their satisfaction, Raymond limped into the room and sat in the empty seat.

"Now, where is the man named The Conductor?"

"As I told Agent Keen, I really don't know." He settled into the chair, making sure that he looked relaxed and not worried. Which isn't to say that he _was_ worried, he simply preferred to give that appearance regardless. More often than not, it was what had saved his life on more than one account. "I _can_ tell you that, as an unfortunate byproduct of my rescue, The Conductor is no longer with us."

Harold sat back as well, attempting to imitate Red. "Were you able to get anything useful out of him?"

"You know, I was a little busy at the time and I completely forgot to ask him anything." Raymond did his best to act as though nothing had truly happened. None of what had passed while he was within Harrold's possession bothered him; he had suffered far worse in far more sinister hands. But he didn't want to add to Lizzy's distress about what could have or might have happened. He knew that she already felt guilty for the injuries that had been inflicted; it was why she wanted to know how badly he'd been injured. And her unnecessary guilt was why he refused to answer her. "Did you investigate the site as I had suggested you do?"

"Yes, and we found nothing. Not a hint that anyone had been there, including you."

"Well that's a shame. I suppose that getting one more criminal off the street will have to suffice for this case."

"That's not good enough," Ressler growled from behind his left shoulder.

Red peered over at the agent. He didn't dislike Donald, per se, but he certainly held no love for the man either. It was more like a tolerance. So long as Lizzy worked with him, Red would tolerate him. "I'm afraid that's all I have for you, Donald."

Agent Ressler opened his mouth, looking as though he fully intended on berating Red, but Cooper spoke up first. "I'm afraid that we will need the location of The Conductor's body."

"That I can't give you," Raymond denied. As one, they all frowned, clearly displeased with what he had to say, but Raymond didn't care. Nothing they said or did would convince him to tell what he knew, so there was no point in hoping that it would. "Well, this was a pleasant conversation," he said, with enough cheer to make them all look a bit suspicious. "Let's do it again sometime. Unfortunately, for today, my schedule is a bit busy."

Using his arms more so than his legs, Red stood up. He offered them all another smile before he grabbed the cane and began making his way back to the freight elevator. He almost managed to make it without interruption but Lizzy caught up to him before long. She didn't say anything, merely joined him on the elevator.

"Are you on your way to see Tom?" he asked, unable to keep his displeasure at the idea from coming into his voice. Given that Lizzy's relationship had gotten intimate with the traitor again, Raymond considered the idea of disappearing the man for good more than ever. How she could allow Tom back into her life was something that he would never understand.

Lizzy gave him a sharp look, almost as though she planned on challenging his right to ask the question. Red kept his gaze forward. He didn't want her thinking that he thought too much about the idea or that he was digging into places he didn't belong. At least in that way he could try to do as she requested. "No," she answered, looking forward as well. "You left so fast earlier that I didn't get to finish talking to you."

Ah, so she had more to say. About what, Raymond had no idea but he could surmise that it either had to do with the past or with their future. He didn't really feel like discussing either thing but as he didn't mind the company, to a point, he was willing to hear her out. His face wrinkled into an expression of pain for a second as he stepped off the elevator and headed towards the exit. Dembe came out of the shadows and began to follow, soon overtaking them and holding the door open for them.

"Well, I'm here now," he said once he had settled into the back of the Mercedes with a sigh of relief. "What do you want to talk about?"

"First, answer me one thing and understand that if you don't, I'm gone. I can't work with someone who won't tell me the truth or who lies to me."

Raymond stared at her, wondering how serious she was in this. He had a feeling that he knew what she would ask him - how badly he was injured - and he was trying to assess whether or not he could get away with not telling her. He wouldn't lie to her, necessarily, but he wondered if might be able to skate around the truth enough so that she wouldn't notice that he'd done it.

"Let me ask you something first," he said. "Why is it so important to you to learn the extent of my injuries?" She looked surprised at his asking this, making him continue, "Learning it isn't going to change what's happened, nor is it going to help me to heal faster. So what is the point of knowing it?"

Lizzy seemed to not have any answer prepared. She fell silent, closing her mouth while continuing to look at him. By the time they had pulled up outside Red's current safe house, she still hadn't answered so Red got out, painfully making his way to the door, leaving her to follow in his wake.

"Make yourself comfortable," he invited, waving his hand towards the living room. "I have some brief business to attend to. After that, I look forward to hearing your answer."

As she did as she was bid, Raymond went off in the direction of the master bedroom. When he was finished, it was to find that Lizzy hadn't moved an inch while he'd been gone. She still sat on the sofa, though she seemed to have truly gotten comfortable and had folded her legs under her while she had waited, and she still had the same faraway look on her face. Upon his entry, she looked up then frowned, though why he wasn't sure.

Raymond chose to sit next to her, motioning for her to sit back down when she made a move to get up. She declined with a shake of her head, choosing to move one of the armchairs closer while leaving the entire sofa for him to sit on. He didn't pretend not to understand why she did it but neither did he do what was expected of him. Though his knee throbbed like the devil, the sofa that he was sitting on was nowhere near comfortable enough for him to attempt to elevate it. The embroidery on the cushions had been done one hundred years ago and was not meant for the wear and tear of today.

"You should put your leg up, Raymond," Dembe gently chided, though he had to know that Red had no intention of doing any such thing.

"I would rather not ruin the fabric of this lovely sofa," Red declined with a smile.

"Is there another place that you could sit that you could do that on?" Lizzy asked, looking between the two men, obviously not expecting to get a straight answer from Red.

Dembe gave him a look, silently asking permission to answer the question honestly. "No," Red answered her, looking from Dembe to Lizzy. "All of the furniture in the house is pretty much of the same stock - nice, elegant, and not meant to be used."

Lizzy looked between him and Dembe. "What?" she asked, evidently seeing that they weren't telling her the entire truth. "There is a place isn't there?"

"Do not concern yourself with my wellbeing, Lizzy," Red said, adding more strength to his smile. "But that does bring us around to my question in the car. Have you thought of an answer to it?"

"Is it such a foreign concept that someone should care about you, Red?" she asked, almost managing to catch him off guard.

"Yes," Raymond answered without blinking. "I know of two people that I would say for certain that care about me." He flicked his eyes over to Dembe to let his friend know that he was one of them.

Lizzy seemed frozen for a minute until she said, "I'm not one of them, am I?" Red simply looked at her, not answering. "Even though I have told you that I do?"

"A lot has changed since then Lizzy and, quite frankly, I'm getting a bit tired of trying to keep track of your moods."

"Me caring about you isn't a mood, Reddington!" she burst out. Her voice was a mixture of pain and anger and Red had to stifle a flinch at hearing it. He didn't like hurting her but he also believed that some things needed to be said and heard. This was one of them. Lizzy moved from the armchair, back to the couch and sat beside him. "I know that I haven't been as understanding as I could have lately," she admitted, though 'understanding' isn't the word that Red would have chosen to define it. "It feels as though my world has come crashing down around me and I wanted to use you as a scapegoat for it. I started to believe that I was only important to you because of the Fulcrum and that hurt more than I care to admit." She blinked back tears and Red attempted to stop a few from forming in his eyes. Then she grabbed his hand, her thumb beginning to move in a circular motion on the back of it. "But that doesn't mean that I have ever stopped caring about you, or about what happens to you."

At that moment, Raymond wanted to do several things. He wanted to pull her close and hug her, thank her for caring about him. But he also wanted to cry because he knew that he didn't deserve it. He settled for smiling and giving her hand a gentle squeeze, stilling a wince when she squeezed back even harder while pressing against the bruised wrist. "Thank you," he said with far more emotion in his voice than he had meant to add.

"You're welcome," she answered. "It's also an answer to your question. I want to know how much you suffered at the hands of that lunatic because I care about you. I know that nothing you say will help in any way but it will stop me from thinking things are worse than they truly are." She paused, looking down at their entwined hands. Her free hand joined her other one, enveloping his for a brief second before she slowly moved it down to where the flesh colored self adherent bandage covered his wrist. Her fingers trailed over it, barely touching it while seeming to try and memorize it at the same time. "This happened to you because of me," she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek, "and I'd like to know how much damage was done."

"Why?" he asked in a low, hoarse voice. His heart began to speed up at her touch and Red was having trouble thinking beyond her hands on his skin. It felt a lot more intimate than it truly was meant to be and his body responded in kind. "There's nothing you can do."

"No, there isn't," she agreed. Then she very gently lifted his hand to her lips and gave it a small kiss. "But I can try to minimize how much pain I put you in from here out."

Raymond's brain was currently not working. He knew that he should say something, and indeed there were a few things on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't seem to get the signal to go to his mouth. It was as though a wire had disconnected and nothing was getting through.

"As-ask your question, Lizzy," he finally managed, though he did have to start more than once. If he got to see this side of her more often, he would gladly tell her what she wanted to know on this front.

"What are your injuries?" Red smiled. She had picked a good way to ask it, allowing him to be somewhat clinical about it while also getting some pertinent information. "I already know that your wrists are bruised," she amended, "but what of the rest?"

"Hairline fracture to one rib, three more bruised. Bruised patella, partially torn LCL, MCL, and ACL."

Lizzy's brows furrowed. "That sounds pretty bad, Red," she said though Raymond wondered if she understood half of what he said.

"It could have been worse," he said, shrugging off her gravity. "Don't worry, Mr. Kaplan and Dembe are taking care of me."

In the corner, Dembe snorted. Raymond looked over to his friend, curious as he hadn't heard that sound from the man very often. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lizzy do the same with equal parts surprise on her face. "Only when you allow us to, my friend," Dembe said when he had both of their attention.

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" she asked, looking back at him.

Red didn't answer. Instead, he had a question of his own. "Does this mean that you'll continue to work with me?"

Lizzy blinked and sat back. Red silently mourned the space that she had put between them but he respected it and said nothing. "Yes," she said. "But, Red, I can't keep waiting for you to feed me the information that you believe is relevant. I'm not saying that I want you to tell me everything, because I know that you won't, but I do need you to be a little bit more open with me." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his thigh, giving it a small squeeze. "Please."

He nibbled the inside of his lower lip, thinking, debating. For a brief moment he'd thought of including a clause that didn't involve Tom but he refrained. That would only make her want the liar more and that wouldn't do anyone any good. Giving his lips a small lick, he said, "I can try and that is all I can promise."

Relief seemed to flood through her. Her shoulders relaxed a little bit and she offered him the first real smile he'd seen from her since before he had gotten shot. "Thank you," she said. She shifted and then started to gather her things. Evidently, that was all that she wanted from him for the moment. Red felt a flash of disappointment and pain but he hid it behind his usual mask. He had a feeling that she'd given all that she could for now and that was all that he could ask of her. "I'll let you rest some more," she said as she moved. "For some reason I think that the only time you allow yourself to heal is when I'm not around, so I'll let you get to it."

"I'll walk you to the door," he offered, moving to stand up as well.

"No, please," she objected, holding out her hand to stall him. "Something tells me that you've walked as much as you could tolerate today and I can find my own way there." She then bent down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Red honest-to-goodness forgot how to breathe for a second. "Take care of yourself Red," she bid.

"You as well, Lizzy," he returned, doing his best to hide the effect she had on him from her. She smiled and left while Red stared after her. "You too."

 _Fin_

* * *

 **And there, I believe, it shall end. My apologies if it wasn't how you wanted it to but try to take comfort in the fact that I am debating writing a "sequel" to this one where Red and Lizzy are on the run. While they are at their hideaway, Red is hurt, leaving room for lots of Lizzington and (hopefully) some IC fluff :)**

 **I appreciate the reviews that have been left - they helped to push me to finish this much sooner than I had thought I would. I hope that you all enjoyed it.**

 **M**


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